


Death will have your lips (Death will have your eyes)

by naivesilver



Series: Hatoful Boyfriend Ship Week 2020 [1]
Category: Hatoful Kareshi | Hatoful Boyfriend
Genre: Bad Boys Love Route Spoilers (Hatoful Kareshi), Blood and Gore, F/M, Ghosts, Graphic Description, Hatoful Boyfriend Ship Week - Day 1: Story, Haunting, POV Second Person, Post BBL, this is an experiment okay we'll see how it goes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26914729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naivesilver/pseuds/naivesilver
Summary: They say St Pigeonation is haunted.You might have heard that story.A look at the rumors sparked after the end of the BBL route.
Relationships: Fujishiro Nageki/Tosaka Hiyoko
Series: Hatoful Boyfriend Ship Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963837
Comments: 10
Kudos: 8
Collections: Hatoful Boyfriend Ship Week





	Death will have your lips (Death will have your eyes)

They say St Pigeonation is haunted.

You might have heard that story. It's the kind of tale big brothers and sisters all over the world tell their younger siblings at night, to scare them after the lights have been turned off. Every town has its ghost story - Littledove Hachiman City is not special in that regard. 

It used to be special for another reason entirely, grown ups told you when you asked for confirmation. St Pigeonation's Insitute was the best and brightest of its kind, a school of excellence that attracted birds from all over the country and then some.

What a shame for the city, they said, when the school was abandoned after an accident, its students installed in other prestigious institutes at their parents' grumbling. A grievous loss, indeed.

No supernatural accident, they most certainly scoffed. That would be purely irrational. No, just the collapse of part of a building, a minor fall that injured a couple students. Nothing worth thinking much about.

They probably left it at that, sure to have sated your curiosity. But the revelation must have troubled you more than the horror story did, like as not - it sounded too perfect, too boring. It sounded like something that ought to be looked deeper into.

Your friends might have egged you on, too, just a little. That's what young birds do, after all - push each other to the limits, dare each other to face their fears.

Solve a mystery, sometimes, together or not at all.

Your friends stand watch as you climb the rusted gate, calling out in encouragement when you wade deeper into the school grounds, the grass unkempt and almost tall enough to reach your wings. They would have you believe that it's all a joke on their part, even insinuated that one of them might be hiding in the shadows to scare the wits out of you, but they're actually as curious as you are. They were told the same story as you, looked into the same websites only to find nothing about this supposed _accident_ and quite a few creepy theories about the institute, and they want to know the truth of it.

Still, you don't see much, at first. It's darker than you'd thought it would be, inside, and your torch can only do so much: you're constantly looking over your shoulder, worried that you'll see something move in the corner of your eye. But everything's quiet around you, so you brave on - you've promised to bring your friends a souvenir, after all, and you want to find something that'll prove how far you went, how little you were scared.

You enter the library first. It's dreadfully chilly inside, colder than one might expect on a summer night, but there's nothing special about it. All shelves have been stripped of their books, and you find a few dusty sheets of paper littering the floor as you wander around, but it's empty aside from that, almost boring in its normalcy.

It doesn't _feel_ empty, though. It might be the scuff marks on the floor, the initials crudely carved on the tables by some student that believed themselves so cool and rebellious, but it feels lived in, as though someone might be staring at you from around the corner, ready to pop in and ask you to keep the books in pristine conditions when you take them home.

It's a trick your brain is playing on you, of course - no one is here except for you. But It's unnerving all the same, and you privately wish you could be done with it and get out of that place, so that you might go home and berate the older sibling that sent you on this foolish quest. You hope they only make fun of you for a little while, and then wrap a wing around your shoulders to comfort you, as they did when you were little.

(Older brothers are as willing to take a bullet for your sake as they are ready to shoot one to get you back.

You might have heard that kind of story, too.)

The infirmary is next, and only slightly warmer. You leave it soon anyway - the medical instruments look too much like something out of the horror movies you're not supposed to have watched already - and move onto some place that doesn't make you feel like you're about to hear chains rattling and possessed wheelchairs squeaking.

Your pace quickens as you go on. The teachers' lounge, the music class - they feel off, familiar but not quite, and you don't want to spend more time than needed in there.

You find yourself at the end of a long, long hallway almost by accident, and you looked around, trying to work out where you might be. The walls are lined with a dozen identical doors. A quick look inside some of them tells you that they must all be classrooms, and you go on with a little less tension in your body. Or at least, that's what you tell yourself: you spend most days in rooms like these, right - surely there's nothing to fear from a few mouldy walls and cracked desks.

Then, when you're halfway down the corridor, the noise begins.

You stop abruptly, turning around wildly as you try to locate its source. It sounds like a voice - no, it _is_ a voice, garbled and high-pitched, like the white noise of a broken TV.

It might still be one of your friends, you tell yourself, but calling their names doesn't make the noise stop or dissolve into laughter. Rather, it grows louder, a wordless wail that wavers unevenly and chills you to the bone. It's nonsense babbling, mostly, but there's something distressing to it as well, as if someone - _something_ \- were calling for help.

It comes from one of the classrooms. You should run, you know you should, but still the voice drags you forward, pulling relentlessly at your feet until you're standing before the door in question. You hesitate, then, and your wing trembles enough that you struggle with the handle, but nevertheless you manage to turn it. 

The door swings open with a soft creak.

The thing sitting on the desk smiles at you.

You're out of the building as quickly as your legs and wings allow, running and flying and _leaving_ until you're out of breath and your friends are in sight, but still the picture lingers before your eyes, as if you'd been staring at the sun too long. You can see the human girl in her blood-spattered school uniform as if she were right beside you, her neck a jagged mess of bone white and blood red, her arms curiously slack as they held the head on her lap.

The head, well. The head was a ruin in its own right, mangled to the point of being unrecognizable, the hair so encrusted with old blood that you might have never guessed its color. And her sightless eyes, and the blue lips drawn in a pained grimace, showing teeth stained with red, and the noise, the noise...

The noise follows you on your way out, louder than it should logically be, coming from a human mouth. But as you push past the other birds and take off towards home, you fancy you can hear another voice replying. 

It comes from the library, and it sounds as though it were calling out something - a warning, perhaps, or a name, too mangled and off-pitch to be recognizable. 

The two voices move as if looking for each other, mad as it seems. They meet halfway, somehow, and they change in tune like those love songs your mom listens to all the way through when they come up on the radio, the singers’ voices rising and twisting together like growing vines.

Their chorus bounces around in the empty schoolrooms, and doesn't leave your ears for a long, long time.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm honestly not sure whether it would be more suspicious of the authorities to leave to school open after the events of the BBL route and pretend nothing happened or close it down entirely and give only a vague explanation. For the sake of this story (which is, as I've said in the tags, an experiment to start off the ship week, since I hardly ever write horror stories and I never use second person) let's pretend it was the former, rather than the latter.  
> Thank you for reading! See you soon for day 2!


End file.
